Lucy Oliver Writes

Also writing under the name Lucy Hartbury, Lucy Oliver is an award winning romance and historical writer. A member of the Society of Authors, she writes for Crimson Romance, My Weekly and The Wild Rose Press.

The Orchid

Sunday, 24 April 2016

Celebrating the release today of A Common Enemy. An exciting medieval romance set during a fascinating time period. Originally released in paperback by My Weekly, it's now available on kindle for 99p.

Regretting her betrothal to the cruel, dishonest Edmund, Elizabeth seizes her chance to escape when they are stopped in the forest by outlaws. Yet all is not as it appears with her ruggedly handsome captor Will Downes. Though he turns out to be a gentleman, his heartbreaking past looks set to destroy their future and Elizabeth has to make the ultimate choice between her husband and the motherhood she so desires.

Elizabeth’s riding habit tightened across her chest and she hastily pulled up her horse. A long bramble had snagged on the woollen fabric, once again she had drifted too close to the hedge. Pulling the thorny branch off, she sucked her finger as a bead of blood appeared. Jagged brown leaves drifted down from the trees above, casting moving shadows over the narrow lane. She urged the animal forward again.

The mare moved
into a slow walk and Elizabeth patted its neck. if Will did not call a halt
soon, she would. Thick, clay mud reached above the animal’s fetlocks and the
horse trembled when a powerful blast of icy wind blew down the red scarf she
wore as a hood. Reaching up to the soaked wool, she squeezed out a stream of
red water, which stained the edges of Will’s fur cloak. She rubbed the mark
surreptitiously.

Ahead, he reined
in his horse and looked back. “We are almost here, Elizabeth!” He called
cheerfully. He had tied his drenched hair back at the nape of his neck and the
sleeves of his doublet clung heavily to his arms.

“Please take back
your mantle,” she said.

He shook his
head and grinned. “This is Shorecross weather.”

The path ended
at the next corner and shielding her eyes from the rain, Elizabeth stared at a
tall, grey stone curtain wall set with a black iron portcullis. Two men stood
behind the gate with their pikes raised and she shrank back. She had expected a
farm like her uncle’s, not a fortified manor house!

She glanced at
Will. In truth, she hardly knew him. What if his intentions were not
honourable?

Will swung down from
his horse to approach the portcullis and her shoulders relaxed as the guards grinned,
bowed and opened the gate. A loud clunk echoed down the lane, followed by a
squeak and rattle as the heavy iron barrier rose into the air. Noticing sharp
metal teeth along the base, she touched the back of her neck with a shiver.

“It is only locked
while I was away from home,” Will said. “Shorecross
is not a prison and you will be free to wander as you wish.” He put a hand on
her bridle to steady her mare. “My sister and mother are expecting you. The
messenger was instructed to say you were my new bride.”

She shivered again
and looked away.

“Be not alarmed,”
he said. “I do not wish to be wed either.”

“Will you tell your family of the plan?” she
said.

He shook his
head. “My mother is an honest woman and would not approve.”

“You imply I am
not honest?”

“We are similar and lie when it is vital we do
so.” He glanced into the trees behind her.

“Do you believe
Edmund has followed us?”

“He knows where Shorecross
is.”

A twig snapped
in the bushes and she tensed. The gates to Shorecross looked more inviting now.
Wrapping his reins around his hand, Will strode through the arch and Elizabeth
trotted her mount after. She would not dismount until she knew it was safe.

Halting her
horse in the courtyard, she breathed in the scent of roasting lamb and sage. It
came from an outdoor kitchen—the open door revealing a brazier of leaping
flames and a man lifting a rack of manchet bread from the oven on the wall. Her
stomach rumbled; it had been a long time since lunch.

Behind the
kitchen stretched the long front wall of the manor house, forming one side of
the courtyard, which had been filled with stable blocks and a large well. The
house had a large double door, left open, and small, leaded windows, which
glowed under the pale autumn light like dozens of interested eyes.

“Unless you
would like to sleep in the stables?” he suggested. “I do not allow horses into
the bed chambers.”

Looking behind
her at the armed men, she gathered her reins into one hand and passed them to
him. It would make no difference if she were mounted. An arrow could just as
easily go through her back. She allowed
him to help her down.

Footsteps
thudded across the mud and she turned to see a man wearing the doublet and hose
of an upper servant running towards them, then stopping to bow.

“I rejoice at
your returned safe, my lord,” he said, glancing at Elizabeth. “The ladies are
on their way down.”

Elizabeth
straightened her hood and reached down to brush dust from her skirts. What
would they think of her with a bruised face travelling without a woman
companion? Her aunt would have called her a hussy.

Will stepped
closer and whispered, “There is no need to look so pale. You will be made welcome.”

Two women came
out the manor house and crossed the yard towards them. Although more than twenty years apart in age,
they were dressed identically in dark, woollen gowns with plain linen coifs on
their heads. Elizabeth’s gaze dropped to
the younger girl and she drew a sharp breath, seeing the swollen stomach that
pushed the woman’s dress high under her girdle.
Raising her head again, she noticed the girl’s deep brown hair and wide
chestnut eyes. She glanced at Will, then back at Joan to compare them. His
sister had a more nervous smile.

“Remember they
believe us to be in love,” Will murmured, speaking close to her ear.

“I am not sure I
am sufficently good an actor.”

“Shhh now...”

Elizabeth smiled
as the two reached her, and dropped into a respectful curtsey.

“My son,” the older woman said.

“So formal, mother,”
Will said, smiling. “Are you both well?”

“We are indeed,
thank you. I received your letter.” She looked at Elizabeth. “My new daughter?”

“I am Elizabeth
Farrell,” she said.

His mother’s
grey hair had been tucked firmly under her head covering. The lines running
down to her set, firm mouth deepened as she glanced at the servants who accompanied
them.

"Where are your
women, Mistress Farrell?”

“You may call
her Elizabeth,” Will said. “And she has none. It does not matter, there has
been no impropriety.”

“It is unusual
to travel alone.”

“I did have
companions, but we became separated,” Elizabeth said. If she was going to be
here until spring, it would be good to start in the right way.

“Yes—they died,
most tragic,” Will said.

His mother sighed.
“Then I will arrange one of our maids to sleep in your room with you. I am
Dowager Lady Downes, but you may call me Margaret, and this is my daughter,
Joan.”

“Mistress
Farrell,” Joan said, dipping her knee.

Elizabeth copied.
“Delighted to meet you both.”

“And I am pleased to have a new companion,”
Joan said, but she studied Elizabeth carefully.

“There’s a meal
set out in the hall,” Margaret said. “Unless you would prefer to eat in the
solar?”

Elizabeth breathed
in the scent of roasting meat again. A quiet dinner would have been preferable,
but it was important for the tenants and servants to know their master had
returned.

“The hall would
be agreeable,” she said.

“Come with me,”
Joan said. “My brother will need to discuss estate business. The land obsesses
him, but you have already noticed that.”

Elizabeth followed
Joan across the muddy courtyard, shivering under the keen wind.

“Your decision
to marry was very quick,” Joan said.

“Yes, it was.”

“I also had a
short engagement.” She patted her stomach. “My husband is away at present.”

Elizabeth nodded.
Did her new sister-in-law truly believe Edmund would return?

Saturday, 12 March 2016

It has been a busy few weeks with work and children. I am currently editing Common Enemy, a medieval romance that was purchased by My Weekly and is shortly to be available as an e-book. I love the character of Will Downes, a lord of the manor with a emotional past. Winter Storms, which was bought by Amazon Encore, is showing some great sales, which I'm delighted about. The Cornish story with its hot-headed heroine was always a favorite of mine. I hope shortly to start writing the sequel as it has proved so popular. My Victorian theatre romance The Orchid has been released with a lovely new cover.

The figure turned around and she
jerked back, raising a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp. It wasn’t Jasper
or Charles. This man, with a long, dark red scar that raised the corner of his
mouth towards his cheek, was a stranger.

“You needn’t try and hide your
shock. I know what I look like,” he said. “It is fitting that I am in a
theatre, is it not? When I look like the main character from a grisly murder
play.”

“You do not sir,” she said,
truthfully. He was badly scarred—that she couldn’t deny—but above the twisted
injury, his eyes were intelligent and the colour of a conker shell in autumn.
The hollowed cheeks and pale skin however, testified to a long illness.

“I am Miss Miller,” she said.

He bowed. “Henry Scott-Leigh.”

Ava sat down on the sofa,
wiggling as the broken springs pushed up against her bottom. She studied Henry,
the middle brother of the family. Some-one knocked on the door and she leant
over to pull open the handle.

“Tea?” Daisy said, bobbing a
curtsey.

Ava wished she wouldn’t.
Every-one at The Orchid helped out with other jobs, but that did not mean that Daisy
had to act like a cowed servant.

“Thank you,” Ava said, standing
up to take the tray and placing it on the table. Glancing at it, she nodded. Cook
had at least used the decent tea pot, even if the sandwiches looked dry and
under filled. Setting out two cups, she poured as Henry strode to look from the
window.

“Milk or lemon?” she said.

“What? Oh, lemon please and
sugar.”

Thankfully, he sat down in the
chair opposite as all his pacing about was irritating. Whatever he was here
for, he didn’t look comfortable. It was clear he was about to impart bad news
and she had a very good idea of what that news might be.

Her hands trembled as she handed
him a cup. Please don’t let him close The Orchid. It was the only home she had
ever known. And what would happen to the motley-crew of actors who had become
her family? Nausea rose from her stomach and she swallowed.

Henry cleared his throat. “I’m
here to sort out the running of the theatre. Since your father sadly passed
away, our profits have dipped alarmingly.”

Ava moistened her lips, not
daring to move in case she fainted.

“I’m sorry for the reduced
payments, but I can assure you the drop in income is only temporary. We’ve got
some good shows planned.”

“It’s got nothing to do with your shows. You
have lost many of your patrons because their wives do not feel that The Orchid
is the respectable establishment it once was.”

“I don’t have prostitutes
drifting about my premises.” She noticed
his cheeks flush at her use of the word. Really! Did he think she was a
complete innocent?

He coughed. “People aren’t happy
about the theatre being run by a woman and a single woman at that.”

“Mr Scott-Leigh, I have always
helped my father with The Orchid and ran it successfully during his final
illness.”

“It is not considered appropriate
for you to manage such a business alone.”

“Is this the opinion of the
patrons, or your own?”

His jaw tightened. “It is the
opinion of everyone I have spoken too. You shouldn’t have just taken over when
your father died. My family own the theatre and it is our place to put in a
manager.”

She gripped the settle, fingers
whitening. “You are ordering me out because I am a woman?”

“My family invest in theatres,
music halls and breweries; we pride ourselves as a family business and guard
our reputation well. We can’t be associated with a theatre that is both failing
and of ill-repute.”

“Ill-repute?” She sprang to her
feet.

“Sit down. I appreciate the
situation is not of your doing, but that is the word on the street.” He eyed
her. “And a good theatre manager ought to have been aware of it.”

“I haven’t heard these slanderous
rumours because I don’t frequent taverns or coffee houses,” Ava said, teeth
clenched. “I spend my evenings sewing and reading. Yet a man can drink, keep
mistresses and still be considered a suitable person to employ.”

“That is the way of the world, I
am afraid.”

“So what is to happen to me? The
workhouse?”

“My sister is in need of a ladies’
maid. You’re used to helping actresses dress and do their hair, are you not?”

Ava looked at him, trembling in
anger. “Not just actresses, I dress actors too—handing them their breeches and straightening
their collars.”

He jerked back and she closed her
eyes. Why had she said that? It would only prove to him that she was the
immoral woman he believed her to be. It was too late to take it back though.
But hopefully it would make him realise that she would not be a suitable
servant to his sister.

“Then perhaps I should employ you
as my valet, since you are so well versed in the dressing habits of men.” The
corner of his lips turned up slightly in amusement.

Ava raised her chin with dignity.
“I do not believe that would be considered suitable, sir.”

“I will therefore search for alternative
employment for you.”

“As a governess, or seamstress?”

“No one would employ an
ex-actress to teach their children. Can you sew?”

Saturday, 17 October 2015

Why do people write? Why do I write? I get asked this quite often and it's a hard one to answer. It certainly isn't for the money! There's very little reward for writing and if I cover the cost of my printer ink and expenses in the year, I consider myself to be doing well. You have more chance of winning the lottery then having a top selling book. I work almost 30 hours a week in a demanding job and am a single mother to two children. I don't take a lunch break to fit my hours in, so I can get back for the school collections. Evenings are spent helping with homework, cooking, clearing up, washing, refereeing arguments. When my eldest is finally in bed, I make a coffee, switch on the laptop and write until 11 pm. I don't eagerly sit down to work, I have to make myself do it as I'm pretty shattered by this point, but except for the rare night off, it's what I do every day. Most writers, except for the very successful, work this way, holding down other jobs and juggling family commitments. So why do we do it? For me, it's the writing itself. That feeling you get when you click with your book and suddenly you're with your characters, feeling everything they feel and living their lives. It's pure escapism and is what gives me the drive to continue. I couldn't not write as it's too much part of me. Writing has got me through some very difficult times in my life and while there have been periods when I've been tempted to stop, I know I never will.

Sunday, 4 October 2015

Busy this week polishing my entry for the Bath Children's Novel award, which I have been given the go-ahead to enter after checking with the organisers.

I'm entering my new story, a children's time travel novel covering from Roman Britain to World War II. I haven't written children's novels before, so don't expect to get short-listed, but a long-listing would be sufficient to give me the boost to start sending the book off to agents. I'm now racing ahead to get the manuscript completed in case it does get requested. Is anyone else entering? Let me know and we'll wait together for the long-list to be published!

Children's writing is quite different to adults, it's not just as simple as using shorter words. Children generally lack the skill to pick up the subtle hints in a book regarding expression or character's feelings, so the usual maxim of 'show don't tell,' isn't so relevant. When you're writing for young people, 'telling,' is allowed, as long as it's carefully done. The first two J.K. Rowling books contained quite a bit of telling, which is noticeably missing from her later works, which were aimed at older readers.

In other writing news, Beloved Enemy, my medieval romance was released this week by My Weekly and is currently on supermarkets shelves. Lovely to see a book published and the editors at My Weekly have done a marvelous job with the edits and cover art.

Wednesday, 5 August 2015

Delighted that The Orchid came out on kindle this week. Originally published by My Weekly, and due out in hardback at the end of the year, The Orchid is an exciting Victorian romance set in the theatres of the West End. Currently available at an introductory price of £1.27!

Monday, 20 July 2015

It's been a busy week! After releasing Summer in Rye yesterday, I was delighted to hear today that Ulverscroft wanted to buy the hard back rights to Bound by a Common Enemy. I'm looking forward to seeing it on the shelves.

Winter Storms should also be back out on Amazon under their new Encore publishing line and I am due to self-publish the e-book version of The Orchid. This was published by My Weekly in paperback, but has never been an e-book, so as soon as it's out, I'll put up a link! I'm just waiting for my cover art to be completed by the designer.

Sunday, 19 July 2015

I'm delighted that Summer in Rye has been re-released! An exciting Victorian romance novella, it covers the darker issues of domestic violence and childhood small pox. Available from Amazon today at a reduced introduction price of £1.28 ($1.99).

Summer in Rye was originally published by Musa, who sadly had to close their doors earlier in the year. As it was always one of my favourites, I have made my first attempt into self-publishing and released it myself.

It was easier than I expected to do, so I will also be releasing The Orchid, for which I retained the e-book rights, later in the month. The Orchid was bought by My Weekly and released as a paperback Pocket Novel, and will also be released in hard-book format by Ulverscroft later in the year.

I have sold my medieval romance, Bound by a Common Enemy, to My Weekly, which will will be released as a Pocket Novel later in the year. I'm very pleased about this sale as I'm very fond of the characters in Bound By, in particular my heroine Elizabeth, who is an intelligent and courageous woman with a very difficult decision to make.

Bound By is the last of my romances for a while since I am working on a children's book that I hope to enter into the Times/Chicken House competition details here. (Thank you to the excellent Patsy Collins for her mention of the competition on her blog). The market for children's story is highly competitive with many brilliant writers, so I am under no illusions about how difficult this next step will be. However, I feel ready to push myself further with my writing and try something new. The children's book is the first in a series of 7 and I have completed the first draft, so well on the way for a final manuscript to be ready by the competition deadline.

Summer in Rye blurbA tragedy brought Eva Brookwell and Samuel Shaw back into each other’s lives. But will lies from the past destroy their chances of a future?

Left penniless after the death of her philandering father, Eva Brookwell takes a job as a governess at Rye Hall, but didn’t expect to find her young charges scarred and blinded from smallpox. Rye Hall is an unhappy house with a tyrannical master and Eva is forced to turn to her pupils’ uncle, Samuel Shaw for help.

Eva and Samuel had once been engaged, until his lies drove them apart. Still in love with him, Eva knows she could never trust him again; however he is her only ally in the dark and disturbed household she now lives in.